


The Pleasure Of Your Company

by afteriwake



Series: bathe my soul in colours [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Actual First Meeting, At The Morgue, BAMF Molly, Confrontations, Conversations, Cute Molly, Cute Sherlock, F/M, Fluff, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock is a fan, Sherlock-centric, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Victorian Mike Stamford, Victorian Molly Hooper, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to forget about things for a bit regarding his soul mate, Sherlock focuses on a case for Detective Inspector Lestrade. Unbeknownst to him, there is a discrepancy with the autopsy and Dr. Stamford has called in for a very unusual person to give a second opinion: a female pathologist who is set to be the first female hired at St. Bartholomew’s. But what’s more important to Sherlock is that Dr. Margaret Hooper turns out to be the woman he’s been searching for all over London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pleasure Of Your Company

**Author's Note:**

> And finally, they meet face to face and realize that they're each other's soul mates! I promised I wasn't going to stretch it out forever and I didn't. And I wanted to throw in a little Fanboy!Sherlock and BAMF!Molly into the mix because I like them, even in Victorian times. So I do hope all of you enjoy this.

The case was turning out to be more complicated than they had expected. It seemed that the victim could _possibly_ be involved in a plot against Her Majesty, according to information gathered by Mycroft and his soul mate, and so while they were working on that aspect of things Sherlock and John were focusing on the body and the details of that. It would have been much easier, however, if the autopsy had not been done by the resident drunkard at St. Bartholomew’s, Dr. Fitzgerald. The man was an utter incompetent and the only reason he got to stay was tenure. So it was with surprise that the evening after the results had been delivered by an obviously inebriated Dr. Fitzgerald that Inspector Lestrade had sent word that Sherlock should meet him at the basement of the hospital. Dr. Stamford had finally procured a replacement for the doctor and she would be giving them a second opinion.

 _She._ There were a small handful of female pathologists in the world, mostly because they were drummed out of the profession before they finished the requisite training by men who were convinced women were too overly sensitive or too fragile for the job. And the few who persevered usually did not stay in the profession for long; most caved under the pressure of a domineering patriarchy. He could only think of less than ten in the entire world who would be up to St Bart’s caliber, and of those, one name stood out in particular: Dr. Margaret Hooper, formerly of Toronto, Canada.

His body was almost humming with anticipation in the hopes that it was her. He’d thought about trying to start a correspondence with her after reading papers she’d had published in various scientific journals; the fact she had managed to get them published under her own name showed she was a genius in her field. He’d even used some of her research to help a few of his cases, using the points in a court of law. If it really was Dr. Hooper who was going to be one of the new pathologists at Barts he could at least be assured that there would be one competent professional on the case.

He took care in his appearance. Yes, he had a soul mate that he was looking for, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t at least look impressive for a potential new colleague, whether it was the one he hoped it was or not. He made his way down to the morgue and heard arguing before he saw anyone.

“Michael, you gave my position to a bloody _female_. It’s going to make me a laughingstock.”

“You’re already a laughingstock, Reginald,” Michael Stamford was saying. “And if you’ve come here with the intention of harassing Dr. Hooper then I will have you ejected from the building.”

“Doctor?” Dr. Fitzgerald sneered. “Her degree was bought and paid for. She didn’t _earn_ it. And if she did, it had to have been on her back, spreading her legs.”

Sherlock felt his blood boil at that and he strode to put in his two cents to the conversation, rounding the corner just in time to see a petite woman position herself between a red-faced Dr. Stamford and Dr. Fitzgerald. “I believe my references speak for themselves,” Margaret said, her voice steely as she looked up at Dr. Fitzgerald. He stood at least a full head taller than her, but the look she gave him seemed to cause him to shrink. “I headed up the morgue that serviced the Toronto Constabulary all on my own and I have countless officers of the law as well as numerous assistants who will give sworn statements in a court of law attesting to my skills. That was more than enough to satisfy Dr. Stamford, and I believe that will be more than enough to satisfy Scotland Yard and the high court here in England. Times are changing, Dr. Fitzgerald, and relics like you are on their way out. So good day to you, sir. I need to work and fix the errors that your incompetence has made before something dire happens to Her Majesty.”

Dr. Fitzgerald blinked, looking at Margaret as if she had grown a second head, and then he glanced over at Dr. Stamford and finally shook his head. “It’s on your head if this hospital goes to hell in a hand basket,” he said before turning and heading towards Sherlock. He rudely pushed past Sherlock and made to leave the morgue.

“I’m sorry for that,” Dr. Stamford said to Margaret when she turned to face him.

“It’s all right, Dr. Stamford,” she said with a smile. “I’m actually quite used to it.”

“You have quite the backbone,” Sherlock said, speaking up from where he was standing. Margaret whirled around and stared at him, her eyes widening slightly as he moved closer. “Sherlock Holmes. You must be…” He trailed off when he was standing in front of her. No. No, it _couldn’t_ be. Put her in an elegant green evening gown, curl her hair and pile it artfully on top of her head, put a mask on her face framed with peacock feathers… “The mystery woman from the ball,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she said quietly, giving him a warm smile. 

He blinked. “You knew who I was?”

She looked slightly embarrassed. “The night of the ball, Andrea told me. I’m a bit shy. I wasn’t sure how to approach you, or if I should.”

“I see,” he murmured. He looked over at Stamford, who looked confused. “We’ve met before.”

“Ah,” Stamford said with a nod. He looked from Sherlock to Margaret, and then back to Sherlock. “I believe I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thank you,” Molly said. Stamford moved around them, and once he was gone she looked back at Sherlock. “I’ve heard quite a few things about you.”

“And I you,” he said. “I had hoped you would be the woman taking this post.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I admire your work. I am…an admirer, I suppose.”

She blushed at that. “I have only recently become one of yours. Your exploits haven’t made it across the Atlantic yet, I’m afraid.”

“They will someday, I imagine,” he said. He felt just slightly nervous suddenly. He hadn’t expected that. “Would you like to talk a bit, at some point? I would like to learn more about you, Dr. Hooper.”

“I would like to learn more about you as well, Mr. Holmes,” she said with a bashful smile. “But after I go over the body and give the second opinion. I think that’s just a bit more important at the moment.”

“Yes, absolutely,” he said with a nod. “But afterwards, I think it would be a pleasant way to spend some time.”

“Yes, it would be,” she said with a smile, and he found himself giving her one as well. He rarely smiled, and while it felt just a bit strange, it also felt right in its own way. For some reason, knowing it was directed at her, it felt absolutely right.


End file.
